


Crossed Wires

by Alethia



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Casual Sex, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/M, Gossip, Michael is bad at feelings, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:13:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26439271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: Chris stared at her. "You think that on the nights I'm not with you, I'm fucking a 25-year-old specialist?" he asked, flat.Well, when he put it like that it sounded insulting. But Michael understood the situation; she wasn't here to condemn him."Of course you're free to see anyone you—" she started.Only to be cut off: "ForChrist's sake, Michael."
Relationships: Michael Burnham/Christopher Pike
Comments: 47
Kudos: 200





	Crossed Wires

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place sometime after 2.05 "Saints of Imperfection."

Ripples of pleasure still rolling up her spine, Michael panted and levered herself off of Chris, slumping to the bed beside him, sweaty and breathless. They stayed like that for a few moments, both getting their breath back, staring at the ceiling as they came down from the high. 

Chris' low laughter made her look over. 

He met her eyes, gesturing to their position. "How did we end up at the foot of the bed?" he asked, still flushed, hair a mess, light dancing in his eyes. 

Michael couldn't help but return the smile. "Your fault."

Chris flashed a grin, rolling toward her, wrapping an arm around her and shifting close, so all their skin was touching. "Oh, my fault, is it?" he asked, amused. 

She nodded, settling against him, luxuriating in the feel of it. She loved these moments, when he stroked her skin slowly, close and meditative. "If _someone_ had just yielded earlier..."

He chuckled, dark. "Gotta make you work for it."

And he _had_ , the two of them rolling around on the bed, play-fighting for dominance, all teasing hands and breathless kisses. He'd eventually given in, laying back with a dramatic, " _You win_ ," though his triumphant smirk belied his words. A point only reinforced by his glittering eyes as he'd watched Michael ride him, _so much_ in the look. Too much, really, Michael needing to throw her head back to not fall into it. 

"Mission accomplished?" she asked, innocent. 

Chris huffed another laugh and brought his mouth to her shoulder, kissing there thoughtfully. He kissed his way across her collarbone, up her neck, and to her mouth, pressing his lips to hers _slowly_ , almost reverent now that the playfulness of earlier had drained away. 

Michael kissed him back, marveling at how she could read him after just weeks of doing this. They weren't together every night—their schedules hadn't lined up in two days, in fact—but she'd had more sex with him than anyone else she'd slept with and it was startling how _different_ it could be, even with the same person. From their early needy intensity to the lighthearted athleticism of tonight, the sex had a specific resonance to it depending on their moods or what was going on at work. She'd never experienced that. Never even considered it, really, though she supposed it made sense. 

Chris' tongue dipped into her mouth, teasing, but with an undercurrent of suggestion to it. If she let him, he'd kiss all over her, moving down between her thighs to get her off with his mouth. He took great satisfaction in making her come, the glint of pleasure in his eyes wholly aside from his own sexual gratification. That had surprised Michael, too. 

It felt too close tonight, the memory of the _look_ in his eyes from earlier still lingering. There were times when it was so good between them, easy and satisfying, and then there were the other times, where it felt like more than she could handle, something she could get lost in. 

Michael was very determined never to lose herself again. 

When Chris started kissing his way down her sternum, she _hmmed_ , sliding her hand into his hair, holding him there. 

He looked up, curious, and Michael smiled slightly. "I should get back."

Chris' eyes flickered, the disappointment clear, though he quickly shuttered it. "Or you could stay," he countered, hand sliding up her thigh, an offer.

"Hold that thought," she said, teasing, but the skin around his eyes still tensed, even as he nodded and rolled away. 

Michael scooted off the bed, quickly dressing, clocking how he pulled on some sleep pants as she did. When she was once again put together, he moved close, wrapping his arms around her, holding her like he didn't want to let go. 

She nuzzled into him, reluctant to leave, even as she knew it was the correct decision. He made it very difficult, half-naked and sleepy-eyed, enticing. But it was unwise to linger. She didn't need the temptation. 

Michael looked up and caught his gaze, then leaned in for a kiss. 

What she meant to be brief Chris turned real, one hand cradling her head as his lips moved over hers, the very kind of intense that made something inside her shy away. 

Michael pulled out of it with a series of small kisses, easing them from the moment. "I'll see you later."

Chris nodded, his usual genial nature covering any disappointment he might feel. "Goodnight, Michael."

She walked out without looking back. 

***

Michael considered as she headed to her quarters, still mulling over the encounter. Her relationship with Chris had been a surprise. The attraction wasn't; that had been immediate, instinctive, but something she had determined to ignore. 

It was Amanda who pushed the matter, seeing right through Michael, as she always had. When she visited with Spock's medical records, that one meeting with Chris had been enough. 

_As the turbolift doors closed, Amanda turned to Michael, clear-eyed: “Your captain likes you.“_

_Michael's heart pulsed, at the idea, at Amanda sensing it, at the traitorous hope she knew better than to indulge. “Captain Pike likes everyone,“ she dismissed, looking away._

_Amanda made a negative noise, pressing a hand to Michael's cheek to get her attention. “Don't waste time. You never know when it's going to run out.“ Then, with a sad air, “You deserve love.“_

_Michael blinked, her throat suddenly tight, no idea what to say, the idea of it finally taking root within her. Could it really be that simple?_

It still might have gone nowhere had Amanda's resulting disappointment not stung so very acutely. Michael hated disappointing her parents; she had done it far too often and it never got any easier. After Amanda had left, angry for her cruelty to Spock, something in Michael rebelled. Maybe it was the desire not to disappoint her again; maybe it was the need to feel something good in the wake of the reminder of so much pain. Or maybe it was Michael letting herself have what she wanted. 

Whatever the motivation, she'd found her way to Chris' ready room, reporting on their findings in Spock's medical records as he poured himself a drink. But even after she'd informed him, she lingered, taking in the light spilling down on him, feeling the tug deep her belly. He really was breathtaking. 

_“Something else?“ he asked, curious. Welcoming._

_It made Michael brave. “I wanted to thank you for ordering me to break into the medical records. You didn't have to do that.“_

_“I did,“ he said, resolute, determined to do anything it took to help Spock._

_Michael stared, taking in his resolution, her body keyed up and tingling. “You called me bossy,“ she found herself saying, no idea why._

_He smiled a little, eyes warming. “I'm assured you come by it honestly.“_

_“I'm not, always.“_

_“I happen to like bossy.“_

_“No one likes bossy,“ she dismissed._

_Chris smiled again, something in his look seeming so...inviting. “When you're the captain, it's downright refreshing.“_

_Abruptly, Michael didn't want to dance around this anymore. She tilted her head, sending him a knowing look. “Then what are you still doing over there?“_

_His smile deepened, eyes sparkling, as he moved to her._

And they'd been wrapped up in each other ever since, Michael joining him in his quarters a few nights a week, the pleasure bright and hot between them. 

Tilly was thrilled. She thought it high time Michael get back out there and enjoy herself. 

If only it could just be that. But despite Michael's intentions, she kept finding herself drawn in, wanting to sink into Chris, to forge a deeper connection than the fun Tilly kept telling her to have. So even as she reveled in how Chris made her body sing, she deliberately pulled away, keeping a little distance. The physical was one thing, satisfying in a way she'd never experienced, but Chris would leave once his mission was over. The relationship was temporary. There was little use pretending otherwise. 

No matter that Chris seemed wildly unconcerned by that, solely focused on Michael, always trying to suck her into his orbit. She didn't understand why, but she also didn't want to talk about it. Because then they'd have to _talk about it_ and that would inevitably lead places she didn't want to go. 

She shoved those thoughts aside as she approached her quarters, not needing to brood on it. She'd had an enjoyable night, the echoes of pleasure still lingering. It could be that simple. 

Tilly looked up from her armchair when she walked in...and promptly smirked. "Your freshly-fucked look is the best. Kudos to Pike. I should set up some kinda rating system for him. Positive feedback and all."

"I'm taking a shower," Michael said, not engaging. 

"I'll _bet_ you are."

Michael didn't dignify that with a response.

***

The next day was the same as always, Michael and Chris working together smoothly. It was yet another thing she appreciated about him; he didn't let his personal life affect the job. Given how many ensigns she had stumbled into crying in corners over some heartbreak or other, she deeply appreciated his commitment to professionalism.

Michael made her way to lunch, ordering her usual veggie wrap, thinking about all the sphere data she still had to comb through. She didn't mean to overhear. 

"I can't believe Keeley bagged herself a captain," a woman said, Michael looking over despite herself. It was Specialist Rivera, her brown eyes fixed on something. A glance showed Chris eating lunch with Specialist Wells, waving an elegant hand as he talked. 

Specialist Larani shushed her. "Don't jinx it, Ana. Jeez."

Rivera shot her a look. "I'm just saying, their kids? Gonna be gorgeous."

"Please, it is so not there yet. They just started banging. Give 'em a minute before you start laying down godmother claims." 

"Dibs."

"Psha."

Michael's heart pounded as it dawned on her what that meant, what they were _saying_. Chris was... _with_ Wells? She looked back to them, still involved in their conversation, Wells leaning forward with a flirtatious smile. Whatever she said made Chris grin, easy and free. Michael couldn't help but study her—long brown hair secured in a braid, a few escaped tendrils framing her heart-shaped face, perched in her chair so as to show off her ample curves. Her mind conjured the image, the two of them together, Wells throwing as her head back as she rode him, hair swaying in time with their movements, Chris staring up at her, eyes alight. 

The ding of the replicator snapped her out of it, Michael sucking in a shaky breath, body cold. She took her tray automatically. But instead of going to a table, she headed for the recyclers, depositing the tray. 

She wasn't hungry. 

*** 

Michael stared at the back wall, curled up in her armchair, her body still, but her mind racing. She couldn't wrap her head around it, Chris and Wells. He was a handsome man, Michael knew that, and she'd heard appreciative comments from other crew members. She knew he got a lot of attention; she just didn't think he was taking anyone up on it. 

She could admit to herself...it stung. She thought he looked at her and saw something special. It had seemed so, what with the way he always tried to get her to stay. He acted like he enjoyed her presence, they made each other smile, challenged each other, never ran out of things to talk about. It had felt...significant. Singular. That was _why_ Michael kept insisting on some distance. 

The news that he was seeing someone else...no, even that was an assumption. Who knew how many others he was involved with? She couldn't presume anything, she was realizing. It made Michael think perhaps their connection wasn't so deep after all. 

Then she chastised herself. She was projecting her own view of relationships onto him. She couldn't imagine having deep, intimate connections with multiple people at the same time, but maybe he was different. Besides, she wasn't letting their connection _be_ deep and intimate; it wasn't fair to expect him to honor what she herself wasn't allowing. And it wasn't like he owed her anything. They were sleeping together, but it didn't mean more than that they were sleeping together. It didn't mean they had a real relationship, no matter how many times he asked her to stay the night.

A very small part of her couldn't help but wonder if her refusal had sent him looking elsewhere. That if he couldn't get what he needed from her, he'd find it with someone else. 

Michael bet Wells stayed the night. 

Mercifully, the doors opened, interrupting this unproductive thought process. Tilly walked in, clearly looking for her. "Hey, Jo said you bailed on lunch," she said, tossing her curls breezily. "Everything okay?"

Michael looked up at her, trying to shove all the _feelings_ aside. "I just realized I should have asked...are there rules about who you're allowed to see? Socially, I mean."

Tilly looked at her, shrewd. "Is this about Keeley and Pike?"

Michael stiffened. "You know about that?"

Tilly plopped down on her bed, casual. "I mean, I have a pulse."

"I...didn't realize." Did _everyone_ know about this? Was she the last?

Tilly took her in and frowned, seeming surprised. "What, did you guys talk about exclusivity or something?"

Michael swallowed against her tight throat. They hadn't talked about _anything_. She'd made sure of that. "No."

"Okay, I'm confused. What's with the downer vibe?"

Michael hesitated. She could tell Tilly about the tightness in her chest that hadn't gone away since she heard, the pitching roll in her gut, like the moment you dropped into freefall...but she couldn't shake how naïve and childish it all seemed. She had assumed their relationship was something it wasn't because of her own inexperience, even despite her attempts to keep it casual. She didn't need to go talking about her failure to be an adult about it all. She was already enough of an oddity. 

So she shrugged it off. "I just didn't know he was seeing anyone else. But I shouldn't be surprised, right? He can see whoever he wants."

Tilly nodded. "Unless you agreed otherwise." Then she leaned back, casual and unconcerned. "But it's no big deal. Keels will get bored and move on in, like, a month. Six weeks, tops."

Michael blinked, once again struck by how little she knew about the social dynamics on the ship. Purposefully, for this reason. She had always gleaned that the bed-hopping was exhausting. She never expected to be in the middle of it. "Right," she said after too long a pause. 

Tilly didn't seem convinced. "Want to clue me in to what's really going on in your brain?"

Michael felt stupid for the hurt still welling up inside her, that she couldn't quite shake. So she deflected. "She's very pretty."

"Yeah, Pike has top-notch taste, I'll give him that."

Michael shrugged. "We're...different." As she said it, she realized it was true, that this had also been weighing on her, despite her determination _not to think about it_. Wells was a classic beauty, voluptuous, her figure more like Tilly's, the kind that turned men's heads. Michael had always been rail-thin; it was just how she was built. 

It made her wonder why Chris was even bothering. 

Tilly studied her, like she was reading some of that. "Don't go comparing yourself, Michael. Yeah, Keels has boobs, but you're smoking hot, too. It's not a competition."

Michael blinked, realizing that some part of her had instinctively been analyzing how she fell short. But that wasn't the issue. Chris had taken an interest in both of them, after all. 

The issue was that Michael didn't want to be just another fling of his. Another Keeley. But she'd arranged it so that was all she could be. Keeping it casual meant that things were casual. She couldn't resent Chris for her own choices. It was illogical in the extreme.

"You're right. It's silly of me." Michael smiled at Tilly, appreciative. "Thank you. This helped."

"I got you. Now come on. The sphere data waits for no gossip."

***

They were scheduled for dinner again, something Michael usually looked forward to. She enjoyed the time they spent together, even apart from the sex that followed. She liked Chris. His quick mind and dry sense of humor often surprised and delighted her. 

But the vague upset in her gut still hadn't receded. And as much as she liked him personally, their arrangement wasn't something she wanted to take part in. She saw that now. 

Really, she should be glad. Knowing what you didn't want was as important as knowing what you did. And, at the very least, Chris had touched the part of her that had gone cold since Ash, reminding her that she could have a romantic life. If she wanted it. So truly, their liaison had been invaluable. 

All she needed to do was communicate that to him. 

Michael walked into his quarters, the doors granting her entrance automatically. Chris was just setting out the final dishes, looking up at her in welcome. "Hey," he said, smiling. She would miss that, she thought, his instinctive warmth. 

She smiled back. No need to be unkind, of course. "Sorry, I'm a little early."

"Any more time I get to spend with you," he said, light, seeming wholly genuine. 

Michael's smile dimmed. 

He seemed to clock it, his warmth draining away, a line appearing in between his brows. "Everything okay?"

The sick feeling in her stomach intensified, but Michael ignored it. She just needed to make things plain. "About that. I think I should take a step back."

Chris blinked, clearly caught off guard. "A step back," he echoed. 

"From this," she said, gesturing to the table, the situation, _him_. 

Something flickered in his expression, though he was doing an admirable job controlling it. "I'm surprised. I thought things were going well."

Michael fumbled, not expecting him to challenge her. "They are. Were. I just—I find I don't take to the idea of sharing, so I think it's best to—to leave it."

Chris frowned, like that troubled him. "You don't like sharing."

"That's not a judgment," she clarified quickly, not meaning to offend him. "It's not like we decided—besides, Wells seems lovely. I think we just want different things at the moment. And that's perfectly understandable."

Something new flitted through his expression, something Michael had never seen. He immediately blanked his face, taking a breath, utterly controlled. "Wells." Chris stared at her. "You think that on the nights I'm not with you, I'm fucking a 25-year-old specialist?" he asked, flat.

Well, when he put it like that it sounded insulting. But Michael understood the situation; she wasn't here to condemn him. 

"Of course you're free to see anyone you—" she started.

Only to be cut off: "For _Christ's sake_ , Michael," he said, heated, turning away from her and moving to the bay windows overlooking the stars. 

It struck Michael; she didn't think he'd ever turned his back on her, not since they started this. He'd definitely never sounded so angry, not even when he thought she was questioning him on the bridge that first day. 

Michael's stomach rolled, the sick feeling intensifying. She'd thought he would make this easier. 

After a long moment, Chris turned back, tension in his shoulders now. "She is literally young enough to be my daughter," he said, voice full of offense. "What could I possibly have in common with her?"

Michael blinked at him, confused. Why was he asking her to justify his relationship? "Some would say age is just a number..."

Chris narrowed his eyes. "Please," he dismissed. "So what? I like the way she looks in my bed? We're just fucking?" He gestured between them, something sharp in the movement. "Does that go for us, too? Are we just fucking, Michael?"

Michael swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable. They hadn't discussed this, she'd steered well clear of it, but she also didn't want to lie. "I didn't think so. Until...this."

Chris scoffed. "That's a small consolation, I suppose." He looked away again, clearly trying to control his anger. 

Chills ran along her whole body, Michael at sea. He seemed so offended, but she'd heard Wells' friends, Tilly knew, _everyone_ knew. "I don't understand."

Chris swallowed and looked back to her. "Specialist Wells was asking me about the Command Training Program." Something hot stabbed at the base of Michael's skull even as Chris continued: "Given that there seems to be something else going on there, I'll have Saru step in and offer all further guidance," he said, clipped.

Michael's mouth went dry as she realized what he was _saying_. Everyone was wrong. He wasn't sleeping with Wells. "...oh."

"Indeed." He made a dismissive gesture. "Crushes, I can deal with. But you thinking I'm the type of person who goes around—" He broke off, running a hand over his mouth, like he was covering some emotion. 

Remorse swept through Michael. She'd _hurt_ him, she realized, even though she hadn't meant to. Even though it shouldn't even be an offense, given how everyone insisted relationships worked. "I didn't—"

Chris held up a hand and Michael stopped talking. He'd never done that with her, either. 

He looked to her, face blank again. "I can't—I think you should go."

Michael blinked, not understanding. He'd never asked her to leave before. He'd only ever been welcoming. A cold sweat broke out all over her as she asked, "What?"

Chris was matter-of-fact when he answered. "I'm angry, which won't lead to a productive conversation. I need some time to get my thoughts in order." When she didn't move, he said it again: "You should go."

Blindly, Michael nodded, turning for the door. Before she got there—

"Michael." His tone made her look back, something intent in it. 

He pinned her with a look, blue eyes steely. "For the record, I am not seeing or sleeping with anyone else, nor do I want to."

Michael's throat hurt so much she didn't think she could say anything. She just nodded. 

Seeing it, he turned back to the windows, effectively dismissing her. 

Michael walked out. 

***

Her heart pounded with every step as she headed back to her quarters, on autopilot. The sick feeling in her stomach had transformed into something actually nauseous. She had expected that to be hard; she hadn't expected to so completely bungle it that Chris got angry. 

Chris rarely got angry. And never without good reason. 

Michael shied away from that thought. 

When she walked into her quarters, Tilly automatically looked up—

"Whoa, what happened?" she asked, getting to her feet, worry all over her face.

Michael opened her mouth...and had no idea how to summarize it. She finally went with, "Chris isn't sleeping with Wells."

Tilly blinked, clearly not expecting that. "Say what?"

"Chris. He's not seeing anyone else." Something about it _hurt_. 

She instantly shut that down...and slammed the lid tight on all the rest of her feelings while she was at it, reaching for the studied numbness she'd perfected on Vulcan. 

"Well, Keeley's gonna have some explaining to do," Tilly muttered. Then she tilted her head, some kind of suspicion blooming in her eyes. "And this came up how?"

"I told him I wanted to take a step back. He figured out why."

Tilly stared, like she was trying to see under Michael's skin. Finally, she shook her head, but it was almost like it was at herself. "I should have paid closer attention," she muttered, faint. 

Michael frowned. "What?"

"I was so wrapped up in losing my freaking mind, I didn't—" She broke off, mad at herself. 

"I don't understand," Michael said evenly, glad to have something else to focus on. 

Tilly rubbed the bridge of her nose. "You said it was just fun. At the beginning of this, you said you didn't want a relationship."

"I don't."

"Except for how you totally do," Tilly pointed out. "If I'd known that, my advice would have been completely different. Like, _worlds_ different."

A chill swept Michael's spine. Was that what she wanted? Why the thought of being interchangeable with Wells made her go cold? But then she thought of her only real relationship...and something in her rebelled. She didn't want _that_. 

Michael sent Tilly a helpless look. "I just—I don't know how to... _do_ this."

"Okay, I am gonna need you to get way more specific. Do what?" Tilly flared her hands, a frustrated movement. 

"Relationships?" Michael tried, waving an illustrative hand. "The one-night-stands were...unsatisfying and then Ash was..." She stopped that thought, moving on to the real issue: "I don't think I'm cut out for them."

"I love you, but that kinda sounds like an excuse to not try."

Michael looked away. "I didn't grow up like you, Tilly."

"Awkward and a disappointment to your mother?" Tilly said, pointed. 

Michael winced. She shot Tilly an apologetic look, then admitted, "Human. I don't know how to do what everyone else does."

"I mean, we're talking learned behavior here. You can learn. The problem is you're expecting yourself to be perfect, but not asking for help. Nobody knows everything. We all learned from someone else."

"I don't even know what I don't know. I just feel like something is wrong when I get close and I don't know how to fix it," she confessed, her voice wavering, feeling the careful control over her emotions cracking, her Vulcan training failing her when she needed it more than ever. 

"Okay, okay," Tilly said, moving over and pulling her into a hug. 

"I did want to keep it casual with Chris," she insisted into Tilly's shoulder, feeling the tears leak out. "I tried."

Tilly pulled back to look her in the eyes. "But you couldn't?" she guessed, soft.

"He kept asking me to stay," she said, wiping at her cheeks. "And I _wanted_ to."

"That's okay, you know," Tilly said, still gentle, clasping Michael's arms. 

Michael jerked away, a panicky feeling spiking through her. "It's not. The last time I felt like—it's _not_."

"All right, I hear you. Come on, let's sit down," Tilly soothed, tugging her toward her bed and sinking onto it with her. 

Michael sighed as she settled onto it, exhaustion sweeping over her, sudden and complete. All she wanted to do was lie down and sleep. Where she wouldn't have to feel like this. "He asked me to leave," she said, her voice cracking. 

Tilly made a sympathetic noise and rubbed her back. "Leave forever or leave for now?" 

"For now, but who knows? He was so angry," she said dully. "I don't understand. We never discussed being exclusive." Or anything about their relationship, but Michael didn't mention that. 

Tilly sighed. "He could be old-school about it. That would track, actually." 

Michael swallowed at that idea. "I don't think it was just anger. He seemed...betrayed," she admitted, the thought of his hurt actually hurting her. She hadn't meant to cause him pain. She hadn't meant for any of this to happen. 

"Yeah," Tilly said, sympathy in her voice. 

"I was trying to keep it casual," she insisted again, voice faint. 

Tilly took a breath. "If it was really casual, you wouldn't be this upset," she said, careful.

On some level Michael knew that. But having it said made it somehow more real. She took a shuddering breath as the truth really landed on her: "I think I ruined everything."

This time, when the tears came, she didn't wipe them away. 

***

Michael didn't sleep at all, the confrontation with Chris playing out over and over. She kept seeing the _look_ in his eyes, watching him turn away from her, all so unlike him. 

She'd hurt him and the guilt of that pressed down on her chest, suffocating. Worse, she didn't know how she was going to make it better. Or if he'd even let her. 

Stepping onto the bridge was nerve-wracking in a way it hadn't been in ages, not since Michael's position had been tenuous and any wrong move could send her back to jail. She took in the others, going about their duties, but her focus was really only on one person. 

Chris sat in the captain's chair, checking its readouts. He looked calm and composed, like nothing was amiss.

Something about it settled Michael, his command presence reassuring despite everything. Maybe it would be okay. He had always been perfectly professional at work. It was something she'd always admired about him. 

Clocking her presence, Chris looked up—

And nodded curtly, immediately focusing back on the readouts. No warmth in his eyes, no quirk of his lips, just a perfunctory acknowledgment and dismissal in one.

The loss _slammed_ into her chest, Michael moving to her station by muscle memory alone, reeling. It wasn't unprofessional, it was nothing anyone else would've noticed—

 _She_ noticed. Was this what it would be like now? Had she so hurt him that their connection was just...gone? The two of them nothing but colleagues, distant and correct. 

Something in her _ached_. And there was nothing she could do. 

***

They went on like that for two days—Chris closed-off and immovable, as inviting as a tritanium wall. Michael tried to ignore the grief of it, the gaping hole where once there was closeness and joy, but she could never quite shake it completely. It hollowed her out, making her realize how much she'd come to rely on the easiness between them, the casual intimacy, even outside of bed. And now it might be gone forever. 

Part of Michael wanted to blame it on ship gossip, but that was an excuse. She had deliberately avoided talking about their relationship; that was the only reason such a misunderstanding was even possible. 

Michael couldn't deny: it was all her fault. 

***

"Burnham, hang back," Chris ordered from his desk as the evening briefing broke up, the others chatting as they walked out. 

Michael's pulse picked up as she moved to stand before Chris' desk, watching him review something on a PADD. This was the first time he'd addressed her, outside of their duties. But then she chastised herself. This still might be part of those duties; she shouldn't assume anything. 

There had been enough of that. 

Once the others had gone and the doors shut, Chris looked up at her. 

Cold swept through her, followed by a pulse of _heat._ This would not be a professional conversation. 

Chris watched her, something melancholy in his eyes. Michael wasn't used to it. "I realize I've been a little distant, but I'd like to talk, if you're okay with that."

Michael swallowed against the sting in her eyes, nodding. "I'd like that, too."

"My quarters tonight?" he asked, his voice saying it was a genuine request, not an order.

Relief swept through her. She nodded again. "I'll be there."

"Good." When she didn't move, his eyes flicked to the doors, then back to her. "Go on. Back to your station." His voice was so soft, not cold like it had been for days, the recognition of that making her head a little woozy. 

"Right. Thank you." Gathering what little dignity she could, Michael turned and walked out. 

***

Michael walked toward his doors, steeling herself for the very real possibility that he'd say they should go back to being colleagues. It would be the prudent move, a way to ensure they wouldn't hurt each other as they had. 

But even as she knew that was the reasonable decision, she couldn't help the stirring of hope in her chest. Trying to stay casual had been a mistake, she knew that now. She wanted more with him and she'd reacted out of fear. Maybe she could make him see that. 

Maybe it didn't have to be over. 

As she arrived at his doors, she moved to press the chime—

But the doors opened automatically. Michael startled as realization swept through her: he hadn't revoked her access. 

She swallowed against the tightness in her throat, composing herself as she walked in, somewhat cautious. 

Chris sat on the couch, dressed in the casual slacks and sweater he favored in his off hours, a drink in hand. His expression was pensive, but not upset, like the anger had drained away. 

He looked over as she entered, standing as he always did, eyes glinting in muted welcome. 

Sudden relief crashed down on Michael. Their connection wasn't totally gone. "Hi," she said, a paltry offering, but it was all she could muster with the emotion sweeping through her. 

"Michael," he greeted, raising his drink in wordless offer. She shook her head. He nodded a little, understanding. "Thanks for coming. Please, sit." He gestured her into one of the armchairs, Michael taking a seat gratefully, hands clasped together. She stared at them for a moment, not sure what to say. Should she start?

Chris sighed, getting her attention. He took a sip of his drink, throat working. Then he set it aside. "Well, we've made a prize mess, haven't we?" he said, low, like he was reaching for his usual humor, but wasn't entirely joking. 

The 'we' there startled her, Chris assuming some of the blame in a way she didn't understand. "I rather think I did."

Chris shook his head. "I let it get to that point. I should have talked to you about what we were doing, but I didn't want to scare you off. If I had clarified earlier, none of this would have happened."

"You were reading the room," she admitted. "I didn't want to talk about it."

"I should have pressed the matter anyway," he said, firm, filled with the conviction of one who did the hard thing. 

Michael followed that example. "I'm sorry. I should have talked to you rather than assuming what everyone said was true. I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't think it would," she said, voice shaking a little, her stomach churning. 

Chris shook his head a little. "The thing I can't...you really thought I was that guy? That I'd give the time of day to some kid?" he asked, an incredulous note to it. 

Michael stared at him, helpless. "It's just—Wells is...voluptuous. I see the way men stare at her."

"You thought I was sleeping with her because she's _stacked_?" he asked, offense back in his voice. 

She winced, not meaning to make this worse. "I just—I don't look like that and I never will. I—"

"Please stop," Chris said, quiet. Michael did, twisting her hands as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, like he was pained. Finally, he sighed and looked back to her. "I don't know what I did to make you think otherwise, but Michael...you're gorgeous. You light up the room. When you're there, you're all I can see. And even if that weren't true, I'm not with you because of how you look."

Something in Michael's chest squeezed even as she tried to make him understand. "Tilly said that I can't assume exclusivity. And I know some people like variety—"

"I'm not one of them," he cut in, short, like even the idea was distasteful. "If I'm with someone, it's because I want to be with _them_."

Michael nodded at the confirmation of what she'd suspected. "I understand. It's just...everyone said you two were together. And we'd never discussed it, so I took it at face value."

Chris looked away, hurt flickering through his expression. "That's the thing that hit me hardest. That you'd think so little of me."

Michael leaned forward, trying to catch his eye. "It wasn't a value judgment, Chris."

He slanted a look at her. "You tried to break it off because of that. It was absolutely a value judgment."

Michael straightened, heart pounding, realizing she hadn't dug in on this. " _I_ didn't want to take part in that kind of arrangement. I didn't think less of you," she said, stiff.

"It's not good enough for you, but it's a-okay for me?" he asked, tone dubious. 

Michael looked down to her still-clasped hands. "People have different views on relationships. It's fine." From her xenoanthropology research, and what she gathered from the crew, her views were a little more traditional than some others, but she just couldn't fathom the appeal of the dalliances others engaged in. Even sleeping with Chris had been a big step for her. 

Chris stayed quiet at that, the silence going contemplative. Michael finally raised her eyes, finding him studying her. "You said it wasn't just sex for you," he finally said, tone almost prompting. 

"It wasn't."

"But you wouldn't let it be more. Not really."

Michael shifted, that hitting a shade too close to home. "I thought...maybe if I kept a little distance, it wouldn't hurt so much. When it ended."

Chris' expression softened. "Michael..." He broke off, sighing. "Look, I can't say what the future holds, but I think talking is better than trying not to feel."

Michael shrugged a little. "It didn't work anyway. It turns out."

The corners of Chris' mouth curled a little. Then he sobered, moving from the couch to crouch down before her. He took hold of her clasped hands, his own warm. "I think you're beautiful and brilliant and I want to be with you. I want to be able to say that to you without feeling like you'll bolt."

Michael looked down at him, eyes stinging. "I want that, too."

Chris nodded. "Okay. Then we should have what we want."

Michael nodded back, emotion sweeping through her, overwhelming. He wasn't breaking it off like she'd feared. He wanted to try again. She hadn't ruined everything. 

"Come here." He tugged her down, bringing his mouth to hers, the kiss warm and lingering, no hint of their conflict. 

After, Chris pulled back, still looking up at her. Michael pressed her fingertips to his mouth, _feeling_ it as he smiled. He kissed her fingers, light, so _much_ in his eyes. "I need to process for a little bit, but...have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

Michael nodded, not trusting her voice, too many _feelings_ flooding through her. 

Chris smiled, kissing her hands once more. "Good. It's a date."

***

Though it was expected, Michael still felt relief sweep through her when he smiled at her on the bridge the next morning, as warm and intimate as ever. It was like a gear clicking back into place, everything once again working in sync. 

The high of it buoyed her through the whole day. 

***

Michael walked into his quarters, a shiver of pleasure fluttering through her that the doors still opened automatically. She'd taken that simple trust for granted for a while. She hoped she wouldn't make that mistake again. 

Chris wasn't in the common area, but she heard rustling from the bedroom. "Just a sec, Michael," he called. 

She waited, moving over to take in the set table, several courses of covered dishes laid out, proper. She checked under one of the covers, finding her favorite vegetable souffle, the sight of it inexplicably making her eyes sting. She replaced the cover, scolding herself for the reaction. Of course Chris would get her favorites; that was the type of thing he did. It shouldn't send this startled wave of emotion through her, affection so deep she didn't know how to take it all in. 

Michael heard him move from his bedroom, but didn't turn, still trying to get her emotional reaction under control. She didn't want to give him the wrong idea about what she was feeling. There had been quite enough miscommunication between them. 

"Sorry about that," he murmured, coming up behind her and wrapping her in his arms, all solid strength. 

Michael slumped back against him, satisfaction sweeping through her. He held her tight, sure, exactly as he always did and it sent a burst of _feeling_ straight down her spine. They were doing this. 

She gripped his arms where he held her, holding on. "Dinner looks nice," she said, low, marveling at his warmth against her back. 

Chris _hmmed_ and kissed her neck, light, almost exploratory. 

Michael's breath caught as a shiver went through her. She tilted her head, giving him easier access. 

Chris kissed her again, his mouth lingering this time, warm and enticing. He kissed his way up her neck to her ear, Michael turning into it a little, letting out a soft gasp when he sucked on her earlobe. He chuckled into her ear, pleased with himself, then pulled back a little. "We should eat. Wouldn't want it to get cold."

Michael turned in his hold, noticing that he was wearing civilian clothes, including the blue sweater she liked. She didn't know if she'd ever told him that; she should have. She stayed close, meeting his eyes, the idea of moving away from him unfathomable. "Chris," she said, her voice wavering a little, a note of desperation to it she'd never heard from herself. 

He seemed to hear it, too, his eyes darkening in recognition. Then he brought their mouths together, firm and sure. He kissed her like they had forever, slow and thorough, a reacquainting that still had an edge to it. They could have _lost_ this. 

Chris broke away, a little flushed, leaning his forehead against hers. "Yeah," he said, rough. "Me, too."

Michael brought her hands up to cup his face, marveling at him. She pulled back to catch his eye, needing him to hear her. "I really am sorry."

Chris' eyes flickered. He shook his head. "No more apologies."

"But it's true."

Chris covered her hands with his, eyes so warm. "I know, Michael. I believe you. I don't need any self-flagellation. Now I want us to move forward."

Michael's throat went tight. She nodded. "Forward sounds good."

The corners of Chris' lips quirked and then he pressed their mouths together again, the kiss welcoming, not meant to stoke heat. 

It did anyway, want rushing through Michael, the kind of desperation she didn't know she could feel. She deepened the kiss, sucking on his bottom lip the way he liked, suggestive. 

Chris groaned and then pulled away. "That's not playing fair."

Michael crowded close, nipping at his chin, his neck, consumed by him. "Want you," she breathed against his skin. 

"Dinner?" he asked, faint. 

" _You_ ," she insisted, nipping at the hollow of his throat. 

Chris made a helpless noise and found her mouth again, no longer holding himself back. He fused their mouths together, a hint of yearning to it, like he'd missed this intimacy as acutely as she had. 

Michael fell into it, moving one hand into his hair and gripping as he claimed her mouth, as skilled and thorough as ever. 

He kissed down her chin, muttering against her skin, "So beautiful. Perfect. Missed you."

It swept fire through her, Michael nudging him back toward his bedroom. "I want to feel you," she gasped, finding his mouth again. 

Chris didn't even break the kiss, just followed her lead, already tugging at her uniform jacket, clever fingers making quick work of clasps he knew well. 

Michael helped, stripping off her jacket as they stumbled their way to bed, tugging his sweater off, hands curling into skin. He felt _so good_ under her hands, warm and strong and _hers_. 

They were already half-naked by the time they fell into bed, Michael gasping at his mouth on her bare stomach, his hands opening her pants with no hesitation. She squirmed against him as a hand slipped inside, teasing between her thighs, where she'd already soaked through her panties. 

Chris looked up at her as he pressed two fingers against her, pointed. "Been thinking about this?" he asked, dry.

"All day," she said honestly, voice rough.

His eyes darkened. "Clothes off," he said, gruff, rolling away from her to take care of his own. 

Michael needed no more urging. She shucked the rest of her clothes, fumbling and hands shaking, but when Chris rolled back to her and it was endless skin against hers, she couldn't find it in herself to care. 

He blanketed her, kissing her with those deep, searching kisses again, like he was reassuring himself, too. Eventually he pulled back, staring into her eyes, something serious in his gaze. "I couldn't imagine not having this."

She made a soft noise and reached for him, pulling his mouth to hers again, the urgency building under her skin, his hard cock pressed to her hip a tantalizing reminder. She rubbed her body against his, nails scratching down his back, a goad. 

Chris grunted and broke the kiss, panting against her mouth like he was trying to get some control. "Jesus, Michael."

"More," she said, shifting her thighs open and stroking a hand over his cock, feeling it jump in her hand.

Chris made a helpless noise as his eyes closed, his expression rapturous. She always loved watching him lose himself to pleasure. She tightened her hand, wanting to see more. 

He swallowed and shook his head once, mastering himself. He stilled her hand with a grunt, color high in his cheeks. "There's no rush. It's only been three days," he said, faint. 

She thought it might be longer, forever, but Michael didn't say that. Instead she met his eyes with, "Too long."

Chris' gaze clouded over and he took her mouth again. He shifted between her legs, pushing her hand off him to line himself up and unceremoniously slide into her, exactly as direct and forceful as she wanted. 

" _Yes_ ," Michael cried out, wrapping one leg around him and holding him in place, marveling at how he filled her, the solidity of his body above hers, sweat prickling along their skin. 

He broke the kiss to meet her eyes, a heightened awareness there, like he felt it, too. "You consume me," he said, voice a dark rumble. Chris watched her as he drew back and then thrust in again, the pleasure spiking, stealing up her body. 

Michael cried out and gripped his back, eyes locked on his, not wanting to break the connection. He drove into her again and again, Michael arching up to meet his thrusts, the slap of skin on skin interspersed with moans of pleasure. They'd had quite a bit of sex, some of it far more athletic, and yet Michael had never found herself so breathless. Sex had never felt so deeply _intimate_ , the two of them moving together instinctively, Chris watching her with eyes darkened by lust...and something _more_. Some kind of vehemence, a level of intensity she'd never seen, like he was here with her and everything else could stay the hell away. 

It sent heat spiraling through her, her body fluttering around him instinctively, the tingling between her legs getting insistent. "Chris," she said, an edge to it that flickered through his eyes. 

He didn't stop, fucking her perfectly even as he pressed a hand between her legs, playing over her clit just like she wanted. Suddenly she was _there_ , pleasure stealing over her, orgasm claiming her with a shout, her whole body shaking underneath his as she lost herself to the wave of oblivion that sucked her under. 

Chris' moan—long and low and vulnerable—shook her, Michael feeling him coming in long pulses, his rhythm faltering as his own pleasure consumed him, forehead dropping to her shoulder. Still shaky, she wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding him inside her, the two of them just breathing against each other, hearts pounding. She felt sweaty and sated and shaken in a way she couldn't name; she never wanted it to end.

But, of course, it had to. After long silent moments, Chris roused himself, lifting his head to meet her eyes, his smile small, but real. He kissed her, again and again and again, returning to her mouth like he couldn't get enough. But eventually he shifted back, pulling out of her with a sigh, and collapsing by her side. He didn't move too far, though, keeping his skin pressed all along hers as their heart rates came down. 

Michael breathed deep and even, mind wandering even as the satisfaction buzzed through her. This was where she'd normally leave.

Instead she turned and snuggled into him, resting her head on his chest. 

Chris' hand stroked up and down the valleys of her back, his fingertips soothing. He felt _so good_. 

Eventually she shivered, the sweat drying on her skin. She pulled away—

"Time to get back to Tilly?" he asked, no censure in his voice, just indulgence. 

Michael looked at him, taking in his disheveled hair, sweat shining at his temples. She smiled a little. "Time to get under the covers," she corrected, nudging him. 

Something flickered through Chris' expression. "You don't have to," he said, voice still gravelly. "I don't want you to stay out of guilt."

Michael tilted her head, understanding that. "I want to be here. I always wanted to be here," she admitted, chastising herself a little bit for denying them both what they wanted.

Chris brought a hand to her cheek, his eyes warm. "You're always welcome."

She leaned into it, then turned and kissed his palm. "Come on. I'm cold." She looked to the bed, frowning. "Which side do you sleep on?"

Chris breathed out a laugh and rolled into her, bringing their mouths together. "I could give a damn," he said in between joyful kisses. 

Michael just held on and smiled. 

***

Michael breathed in, deep and content, something tickling at the back of her mind.

And then it hit her: she smelled Chris. 

She opened her eyes, recognition filtering in. This was his bed, in his quarters, where she'd stayed. Chris was asleep beside her, his head half-buried in a pillow, the sheets draped over his body. He looked snuggled up and relaxed, nothing like the controlled captain from the bridge. 

She openly stared, tracing his features. They'd been sleeping together for weeks, but she'd never actually seen him asleep. It surprised her how her heart clenched at the sight, like his mussed hair and sleep-warm skin was some kind of revelation.

Then again, maybe it was. This was intimacy. Vulnerability. This was what she'd been avoiding in order to protect herself. 

Chris breathed in deep, snapping her out of her contemplation. She watched as his breathing pattern changed, his body shifting a little as he woke, his eyes blinking open muzzily. Michael found herself inexplicably fond as she watched him focus on her, surprise melding into delight. 

"You're here," he murmured, voice thick with disuse. 

She shifted toward him, Chris lying back to make room for her to nuzzle into him, dropping kisses on his bare skin. "I'm here," she agreed, one hand playing with the dark hair on his chest. 

"I'm glad." 

"Is it all you'd hoped?" she asked, teasing. 

Chris tugged at the sheet covering her, baring her skin to eyes gone hungry. "And then some."

Even as arousal spiraled through her, Michael huffed a laugh, lying back, Chris moving over her. "Really?"

He ran soft fingers over a nipple, leaning down to press a kiss to her stomach, rolling between her legs. "It occurs to me," he drawled, kissing her stomach again, lower, "that we've never had morning sex." Blue eyes looked up at her, mischievous, sending more heat pooling between her legs.

Michael pressed a hand into his hair, _hmm_ ing. "That is factually correct."

He flashed a grin at her, then leaned down to nibble at the skin just above her pubic hair. "I'm thinking that needs to be rectified." Hands shifted her thighs wider, Michael gasping at his exploratory touch. 

Chris kissed her thigh, laughing lightly. "Glad you stayed the night?" he teased, running his teeth along her skin, tantalizing.

Michael gripped the hand in his hair. "I'm starting to see the appeal."

"Let's see if I can convince you." Then he bent his head...and stopped talking. 

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


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